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Wednesday, 17 September 2014

It is always hard when a favourite
television show ends. The characters have become part of your life,
you think of them as friends. You know their quirks, their likes and
dislikes, and you are attached to their relationships to each other.
Knowing you will never seeing them do anything new again is sad.

Yesterday, Australia's most famous film
critics, Margaret Pomeranz and David Stratton, announced that their
28-year partnership would finish at the end of this year; they are
retiring. For those of you outside of Australia, Margaret and David
are very similar to Gene Siskel and Roger Ebert; they have a
television show called At the Movies
where they review the week's releases, each giving a rating out of
5-stars. Before At the Movies,
which has been running for 10 years, they had The Movie
Show on another channel that ran
for 18 years.

They
are famous for their inability to agree, though they do not disagree
nearly as much as people think they do; they are more likely to like
or dislike a film for different reasons. But when they do disagree,
it is a joy to watch! Cries of 'Oh Margaret' and 'Oh David' would be
traded between the chairs, though it always stopped short of insult.
In recent years they added a segment where they would pick a classic
and explain why it was so wonderful. These classics are international
and Australian classics, and it is rare that they disagree with the
choice.

Like
any movie-lover, they have their bugbears. David absolutely hates
'shaky-cam,' while Margaret is rarely taken with animation (though
she loved the Toy Story series). David also deeply dislikes Lars von
Trier. When Melancholia
came out Margaret gave it 5 stars, while David could only manage 2.5.

They
are incredibly supportive of the Australian film industry,
encouraging audiences to embrace local productions and get over
'cultural cringe.' They both gave Samson and Delilah
(2009) 5 stars, calling it 'one of the most wonderful films this
country has ever produced.' David even praised the handheld camera
work, calling it 'an absolute object lesson' in how to use it. The
affection for them is so great, and they are so well-respected that
for their 25th
year together, they had a special show where Cate Blanchett and
Geoffrey Rush hosted, and played them.

Personally,
they are one of the reasons I love films so much. I started watching
them around 2005, and have absorbed their focus on all aspects of
filmmaking. They always make mention of the screenplay, the
cinematography, the direction, the director's background, films in a
similar vein to the one being discussed; and they have done so with
passion and enthusiasm. They were the first to teach me that cinema
can be art as well as entertainment, and that the best films are
usually both.

Monday, 15 September 2014

Stanley Kubrick's film (from 1971) is a
perfect example of a film adaptation that complements the source
material. Anthony Burgess' novel is a vividly described story of
15-year-old Alex and his ultraviolent escapades with his droogs.
After one particular incident results in a woman's death, Alex is
sent to prison, where after two years he undegoes a new radical
therapy, the Ludovico Technique, that will get him released in a
fortnight. But what price is his freedom? Is he really free?

Kubrick's films follows the novel's
plot quite closely, and asks the same questions regarding authority
and government against the rights of the individual, and how the
ability to make choices rests at the heart of what it means to be
human. The greatest deviation from the novel's plot is the final
chapter, which is completely left out. This is because the American
edition of A Clockwork Orange
thought it too sentimental and exorcised it, much to Burgess'
chagrin.

The last chapter
alters the trajectory of Alex's character significantly (if you are
squeamish about spoilers, you should know better than to read
analyses of films and books you haven't experienced!). In the film
Alex is 'cured' of his negatively reinforced moral behaviour, leaving
the audience with a stare similar to the one we were welcomed with in
the film's first frame. In the novel, Alex begins to yearn for a
different life, and envisages having a wife and baby son.

Which ending is
better? In my opinion, neither. Though the book may feel slightly too
neat, it does show growth and change in Alex's character. Remember,
he is 15 at the novel's beginning; he appears to be going through a
rebellious stage, and is yet to mature. Film Alex is back to the way
he was at the beginning, implying his two-year ordeal has not
fundamentally altered him at all. However, film Alex appears to be a
few years older than book Alex, maybe seventeen, so perhaps his is
too set in his ways. And he does have a clearly defined idea to rebel
against: the government, and the cruelty of society he experienced
after prison. Why choose to be better when no one else does?

Burgess' novel is told in the first
person, and Kubrick keeps that element with Alex providing a
voiceover throughout. As in the novel, Alex frequently address the
audience with 'O my Brothers,' drawing us to side and sympathise with
him. Malcolm McDowell is brilliant in the role. Despite being in his
late twenties at the time, he infuses Alex with a youthful exuberance
and charisma that endears him to the audience. This is ultimately
what makes the film work. Without it, we would be glad that such a
violent individual is spiritually castrated; with it we empathise
with his situation.

'It's not fair! It's not fair that I
should feel sick when I hear lovely, lovely Ludwig Van!'

Film has the upper hand over books in
its ability to incorporate other art forms into its medium. You can
show them or play them, along with the characters reactions; a novel
only gives us reactions. In A Clockwork Orange
music plays an integral role in the story, and throughout is
associated with torture. Alex loves classic music, and its
association with the sickness during the Ludovico Technique is the
most devastating aspect for him. In the novel all music is ruined for
him; in the film only the '9th'
(Beethoven's 9th
Symphony) is associated with the sickness.

Kubrick litters classical music
throughout his film, but it is not always rendered 'purely.' During
the famous Ludovico Technique scene where 'Ludwig Van' is playing
over the images, we the audience hear it played, but it is on an
electronic instrument. I found myself hearing parts that I
recognised, but could not get the flow of piece in my head. The
effect is deliberately unsettling. We do not get the full blast of
the piece until later, when Alex is being tortured by the author.

The author's torture of Alex is payback
for an earlier dose of ultraviolence Alex had served the man and his
wife in the story; Alex and his droogs beat the man and rape his wife
in front of him. In the film Alex sings 'Singin' in the Rain,'
kicking the man to the beat of the song. Later in the film, in a move
similar to Peter Lorre's whistling in Fritz Lang's M,
Alex sings the song whilst relaxing in the author's bath. The author,
like Alex with the '9th',
has a negative association with the song, and he loses all sympathy
for Alex's plight.

Kubrick
and Malcolm McDowell's use of 'Singin' in the Rain' has a similar
effect on the viewer as it does on the author from the story. Now
when I hear the song, I get a strange mixture of Gene Kelly and A
Clockwork Orange in my head.

The
film and book of A Clockwork Orange
are great companion pieces, each enhancing the other. With the novel,
you have the full onslaught of Nadsat, a remarkable invention by
Anthony Burgess. With the film, you have the music which will forever
be associated with the stunning visuals of Kubrick's film.

Tuesday, 2 September 2014

The rom-com is one
of the most despised genres of film. The mediocre or bad ones have
derision heaped upon them. Their utterly predictable outcome is
bemoaned by many; what's the point of watching the film if you know
how it will end up? And do not forget the unrealistic expectations it
gives people about relationships!

For me, the second
point is rather ridiculous: most people are not silly enough to
believe that films represent actual life. And while predictability is
sometimes problematic, it is not only restricted to this genre of
film (in fact most genres are guilty of this because of the very
nature of genre). So why is the rom-com often singled out?

Without putting
forward a rather sexist response, I can't answer that question.
Instead I'm going to talk about the rom-coms I think are great,
brilliant, wonderful, perfect, all the superlatives you can think of,
and why. First up, one of my absolute favourites:

When Harry Met Sally
(1989) details the relationship between Harry and Sally, moving from
the first time they meet, when they didn't like each (or at least one
of them didn't), to their friendship that eventually tumbles into
love. This happens over the space of 12 years (and 3 months!).

Though the main
plot is linear, there are two things that are different from most
rom-coms Hollywood produces. Peppered throughout the film are
'interviews' with older couples talking about how they met. These
characters are not involved in the main plot, and have no tangible
connection to the characters. But they are connected thematically,
contextualising Harry and Sally's story within the multitude of other
couples' experiences. This is not meant to be a representation of how
all relationships are, but just one of many different stories that
could be told.

These
stories do reveal the ending to us, for all the couples are married
and many have been together for many years. It is implied that is the
result for Harry and Sally. But we don't know the unique story of how
they got there.

The second
difference is a bit more subtle. The plot plays out in chronological
order, but there are gaps in the actual timeline. Between the drive
to New York and seeing each other at the airport, five years pass;
after that five more years pass before they actually start getting to
know each other properly.

Coincidence
plays a large part in their relationship. 'Destiny', that old rom-com
staple, is not what compels them together; they hardly think of each
other in the intervening periods. And, although genre conventions
dictate that people who start off hating each other come to like each
other, those films are rarely set over such a long period of time,
and thus the transition feels forced. When Harry Met Sally
allows the characters to change in a more natural way, and are
influenced by factors other than each other.

Dialogue is
incredibly important for films about relationships, and this film has
some of the best lines in film history. Of course, everyone knows the
(in)famous 'I'll have what she's having,' but there are many Nora
Ephron gems in this script. 'Baby fish mouth' is a hilarious moment,
and for me is now a saying; Sally's deadpan 'It's amazing, you look
like a normal person, but actually you are the angel of death' is
fabulous. Most of Harry and Sally's exchanges are wonderful, but the
films declaration of love is perfection:

Harry:
I love that you get cold when it's 71 degrees out. I love that
it takes you an hour and a half to order a sandwich. I love that you
get a little crinkle above your nose when you're looking at me like
I'm nuts. I love that after I spend the day with you, I can still
smell your perfume on my clothes. And I love that you are the last
person I want to talk to before I go to sleep at night. And it's not
because I'm lonely, and it's not because it's New Year's Eve. I came
here tonight because when you realize you want to spend the rest of
your life with somebody, you want the rest of your life to start as
soon as possible.

Sally:
You see, that is just like you Harry. You say things like that and
you make it impossible for me to hate you! And I hate you Harry, I
really hate you …. I hate you.

Great
dialogue is all well and good, but Ephron also wrote great
characters. Harry and Sally are not bland stereotypes; Sally may be
high maintenance, but she is not a shrill, demanding person. Harry is
at times cavalier in his relationships with women, but he is also
coming to terms with a painful divorce, which has understandably
rattled his approach to commitment. They also have small quirks
particular to them: Sally orders food in such detail that I assume it
often comes seasoned with spit (not on the side!), while Harry reads
the last page of the books he reads just in case he dies before the
end. These don't affect the plot, but they help flesh out these
characters.

The
supporting characters are just as well-drawn. Jess and Marie, Harry
and Sally's respective best friends, could almost have a film of
their own. They are not simply there to offer advice to Harry and
Sally but have their own story arc, which involves falling in love
and marrying each other, all in the time it takes Harry and Sally to
figure out how they feel for each other.

One
cannot talk about this film without mentioning its huge debt to Woody
Allen's films. I saw this before I saw any of Allen's films, and when
I watched Annie Hall
I was struck by the similarities: set in New York, smart-talking
characters; Sally reminded me of Annie, Harry had aspects of Alvy.
This is in no way a bad thing; Allen's rom-coms are some of the best
out there, and if you are going to be a bit derivative, take from the
best!

It
is interesting to note that the film was originally going to end with
Harry and Sally not getting together, an ending which some like Rob
Reiner, Nora Ephron and Carrie Fisher have said would be more
realistic. They may be right, but this approach takes me back to the
'unrealistic' tag thrown at many rom-coms. The film is not a
definitive answer to the question 'Can men and women just be
friends?' but an exploration of that tension. As the couples show us,
everyone's story is different, so an attempt at 'truth' is rather
irrelevant.

I
first watched this when I was fifteen and I have loved it since. It
is not just a great romantic comedy, it's a great, brilliant,
wonderful and yes, perfect movie.